


We Tell Ourselves That 'We Are The Walking Dead'

by PrincessElizabeth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6044386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessElizabeth/pseuds/PrincessElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitzsimmons and....zombies? </p><p>Newly engaged couple, Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz find themselves shoved into the middle of a zombie apocalypse, which may or may not have been the result of one of their own actions. </p><p>Title from Rick's iconic speech from The Walking Dead comics, and TV show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which the world goes to hell

**Author's Note:**

> I am a huge Walking Dead fan, and this idea popped into my head while I was watching the mid-season premiere. My muse for Providence has been down lately, so I've decided to write the Walking Dead AU out of my system, and then I can return to Providence when I've got the muse for that. 
> 
> So, anyway, enjoy!

Jemma took a deep breath as she scanned her key card, stepping in the side door of the hospital she worked at. She would be working from midnight until noon, much to her own dismay. This was her least favorite shift to work, but she didn't frequently find herself working the shift. She worked as a clinical researcher at a local hospital, and enjoyed herself well enough. She frequently ran tests on bodily fluids, and other samples from the patients from the hospital, trying to diagnose the illnesses that plagued the patients. She liked the job, she liked being able to discover things in the samples, with the potential for actually discovering something that was causing issues to the patients. 

It had seemed like it would be a normal day, and she was quite excited to get out of work, with the promise of a dinner with Fitz that night. Leopold Fitz, a engineer at a local company, had been her best friend for years. They met while at university, having gone to the same one. After university, the two of them got a flat together, and split the rent so they could both afford to live while searching for jobs. It hadn't taken long for them to both find jobs, having been so young with so many degrees each, and soon enough, they could have easily moved into their own homes or flats, but the two had grown accustomed to their living situation and didn't want to move apart from each other. Eventually, their friendship grew into more, and eventually grew into even more, as the couple became engaged after so many long years of friendship, and the better part of a year in a relationship. Being engaged caused some small changes in their living situation, and had, in fact, cleaned out one of the bedrooms and had turned it into a study for the two of them, buying a queen sized bed for their bedroom. 

Anticipating her dinner date with her fiance, Jemma still had to go through her day at work. So, she sipped up the last of her tea, and smoothed her brown hair back into a ponytail, taking off to start the day, pulling her usual chipper smile onto her face as she made her way up to the lab, tossing the cup into the bin once she was finished.

There had recently been a strange outbreak of something, but nobody had been able to diagnose it, or even come up with a cure. It presented with similar symptoms of the flu, and was often dismissed as such a first. However, after being ill for a day or two, the fever would spike, becoming astronomically high. Ultimately, the internal temperature would become too hot for the body, and internal enzymes would become denatured, leading to death. The hospitals were filled up with people who were ill with the high fever, the doctors and nurses desperately trying to lower the fever to prevent death. Medical professionals were at their wits end, with nobody, not even the professionals at the disease centers was having any luck diagnosing the illness. People were growing afraid to be around people and catching the illness, it wasn't uncommon to see people walking around wearing surgical masks around to avoid breathing in pathogens. They had no clue what exactly was causing the illness, and the world's population was becoming very weary. People outside of the medical profession were whispering about links between the outbreak and the 'zombies' trending on social media. Like other medical professionals, Jemma wrote the 'zombies' off as people who had been taking bath salts, like those in 2012. There couldn't possibly be a link between the two, for the simple reason that zombies did not exist , that they couldn't exist. 

Jemma was perched on a stool in the research lab of the hospital. looking at a sample from a patient who had died from whatever the outbreak as. As she looked at it under a microscope, she saw nothing strange. There seemed to be nothing wrong with the tissue sample, there was no foreign bacteria, viruses, of parasitic organisms. The sample looked utterly normal. There was nothing wrong with it at all, so why was this happening? What was causing the fever and illness. Tissue sample was fruitless, so maybe it was in the blood. So, she reached over and grabbed a small vial that contained a blood sample and put a drop on a clean slide, adding a cover slip and sliding it onto the stage of the microscope. 

She picked her head up from where she was watching through the eye piece of the microscope, and took a deep breath. Hearing strange shouting and footsteps from the hallway, she hurried to the door and looked out the small window in the door. The usually sparsely filled hallways were full, people were..running like they were panicking. She didn't quite understand why people would be panicking, and why they would be in the lab research wing. She was the only one working in that specific lab that day, and there was only a few working in the other lab next door. Confused as to what was causing the hysteria, she turned her head to look down the hall, and that was when she saw why the people were panicking so much, there was a SWAT team, with guns making their way harshly down the hall, the loud, heavy boots thunking against the ground in an ominous way that unnerved the biochemist. Behind them trailed slow, stumbling people that dragged their feet in a way. The SWAT team would shoot at them, but unless hit in the head, they kept coming. Closer and closer the men clad in their black gear came down the hallway, one or two people breaking off every once and a while to inspect the rooms that branched off the hallway. The gunshots were concerning, and were coming frequently. 

Seeing their proximity to the lab, she turned and hurried to find somewhere to hide. The men seemed less than friendly, and the last thing that Jemma wanted was to find herself standing at the end of the gun, taking her final breath before she was to shot like the stumbling people walking down the hallway. The lab offered few places to hide, most of the cabinets and spaces she could hide were filled with supplies and test kits. When her searching became more frantic, hearing the footsteps get close and closer to the lab, her eyes settled on the empty cabinet under the fume hood. They had just recently come into a grant and more money that they could use for more equipment. The old fume hood had been removed, and a new one purchased. The new fume hood hadn't even been installed, so it was unable to be used, at a loss for other things to do, the brunette scurried over to the supply cabinet under the fume hood and squeezed herself inside. She carefully closed the door to make sure she couldn't be seen and held her breath. The cabinet was not comfortable for her to squeeze in to. Even though she was rather small and short, her knees were pressed uncomfortably against the chest, squishing her, effectively kneeing herself in the breasts. She held her breath for as long as she possibly could, hearing the footsteps on the lab floor. Her nervous hands balled into fists, holding on the the sides of the trousers of her scrubs, her fingers curling up into balls nervously, completely forgetting about her typical concern that she would stretch out the trousers. As the footsteps in the lab turned around and headed promptly towards the door, the brunette's lungs felt like they were going to burst. She couldn't hold her breath and conceal her hiding place for much longer. She prepared herself to be discovered when she opened her mouth and gasped for breath. Luckily for Jemma, right as her head felt like it was swimming and she needed to inhale deeply, the man left the room. 

When he finally left the room, she opened her mouth, letting in a long, deep breath of air that her lungs so desperately needed. She stayed there for a long while, doing her best to relax, and allow her breathing to return to normal. Once she was sure that she was safe for the time being, she inhaled deeply, cracking the cabinet door open enough so she could stretch out a bit. Her hands shaking, she pulled the phone from the pocket of her scrubs, making sure it would make no sounds, and shooting off a desperate message to Fitz. 

"Fitz, please get up. Get to back entrance of the hospital as soon as possible - Jemma"

It was fairly early in the morning, a little bit after 8. Fitz was bound to be sleeping, as he didn't work for another hour or so. The man rarely got up before he had to, favoring to shower at night, to allow his curls time to dry. He could simply pull on some clean clothes in the morning and grab himself something to eat and go to work. 

Squeezing herself back into the cabinet when she heard the sound of harsh footsteps once again, she closed her eyes shoving her phone back into her pocket, balling her hands into fists as she hoped for the best. Luckily, the feet didn't stray into the lab this time, but she wouldn't take any changes, she wouldn't come out until the feet had passed and were far enough away from the lab.


	2. In which Fitz worries about Jemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't overly exciting, but the next one should be. It may get a little gory though, so fair warning. 
> 
> I've made a edit to go along with the next chapter, but I'm not quite sure how to insert it into the start of the chapter, so if someone could advise me as to how, it would be greatly appreciated.

The telltale ringtone that accompanied Jemma's text jolted Leopold Fitz from his sleep. A quick glance over at Jemma's alarm clock on her bedside table told him it was only 8:13 in the morning, and that the biochemist would still be at work. Jemma never texted him during work, unless something was wrong. He shot up in bed, the blanket falling from his upper half, pooling around his waist as his hand reached for the phone, which was situated on the nightstand beside the bed. His fingers closed around the phone and pulled it back, closer to his body where he could see it, his finger quickly swiping across the screen to unlock it, rapidly tapping his passcode in to get to the message. 

The urgency in the words on the screen worried the man. Something was really wrong, there was no other reason that Jemma would be texting him such urgent words, during her shift at work. Inhaling deeply, he pushed the warm duvet of the bed away and pulled himself from the bed. Half-dressed in his teal tartan pajama bottoms, he trudged through the room to find a shirt while he typed a message back to Jemma. 

'I'm awake now, and on my way. What's wrong? -Fitz'

Setting the phone down for a moment, his hands grabbed an old t-shirt from the university that he and Jemma had attended together. It had been Jemma's pajamas the night before, and was neatly folded on top of her pillow for her to slip into when she laid down for bed the next night. It was his shirt to begin with, which she just wore as a nightshirt, so in a hurry, he threw the shirt on, pulling it on over his bare torso. He may have been dressed in pajamas, but he wasn't too concerned about what he was wearing. He was half asleep, kept awake by his worry for Jemma as he rushed to pick her up. As he went to the dresser to grab a pair of socks, his phone buzzed again, in Jemma's telltale text tone. 

'I don't know, but they were shooting people, something is wrong..the people weren't like people-Jemma' 

Reading her next message increased the Scotsman's worry and concern for his fiance. He considered himself a zombie media connoisseur, and he be lying if he said that this didn't remind him of every first episode of every zombie show or movie he'd ever seen. It was more than the words that scared him. It was who was saying them. Was no-nonsense Jemma really telling him that there were..zombies? Surely that's what she had meant, and she wouldn't have said it unless she meant it. She had been dismissing the rumors for weeks, insisting to him that people were too obsessed with the idea of a zombie apocalypse, that they were willing to pass anything off as a real zombie, biting to eat, carrying an unknown contagion and infecting others until the world was full of zombies and survivors. 

'Are you okay? -Fitz'

He typed out as he bypassed putting on socks and rushed out to the living area that led to the front door. He quickly shoved his feet into a pair of black Converse sneakers, while his fingers grabbed the car keys from the neat little hook beside the door, that Jemma had put there specifically so they wouldn't get lost. He had teased her about her pretense towards neatness and order, with everything in it's proper place, but for all the teasing, it came in helpful in situations like this, when he was trying to get out the door in a hurry. He would have to remember to tell Jemma that it came in helpful, surely she would appreciate it. As he opened the front door of the flat, the idea crossed his mind. Jemma might be panicking, and she might not have her medication. She hadn't texted him back to tell him she was alright, so she very well could have gone into a panic attack. 

So, turning back and breaking into a bit of a sprint back to the bedroom, he grabbed a warm, soft blanket from off the freshly washed laundry basket. It was the one that she used when she was ill and lounging on the couch. Recently, she had been doing the same for Fitz. If he was ill, she would wrap it around his shoulders. It was comfort in the form of soft, down blanket. Draping it over his shoulder, he hurried out the door, picking up his phone from where he had left it, glancing down at it while he hurried down the steps to where the car was parked, checking for messages. He had one from Jemma. 

'Yes, just please, hurry. -Jemma' 

Seeing her words, he came up with a comment he could have made, about straight laced Jemma encouraging him to go ahead and speed while on his way to the hospital, but he knew it wouldn't help, so he simply put the phone into his pocket and got into the car, pulling out of the parking spot and hurrying off to the hospital.


	3. In which Jemma kills something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, the next chapter!  
>  Anywho, so, this one isn't overly gory, but there is a little bit of blood mentioned. I didn't go into as much detail as I could have when it came to the amount of gore, but I didn't know if I should go into a lot of detail for it, so hopefully this is sufficient.

When the footsteps finally passed, Jemma Simmons cautiously pulled herself from the cabinet. Given the chance to inhale deeply, she took it, filling her lungs with air while she hurried to grab her bag from where it was resting on the top of her lab station. There was something more to this illness than what she initally thought, there had to be, and she'd be damned if she missed the oppourtunity to discover exactly what the illness was and how to stop it. As she packed up the samples, she pondered the idea of the illness /actually/ being related to the zombie like people in the hallway. It truly went against her beliefs, but it was the only semi-logical explanation, for one of the people she saw out in the hallway, stumbling behind the men, was in fact a victim of the illness, that Jemma had gone down to the morgue to collect samples from. She had seen him dead, she had seen him laying on the table motionless, and when she collecting the samples, there was no pulse under her fingers. Nothing that would indicate he was still alive, so, was he a zombie? Was that what they were? 

Pausing to think of the lab capabilities at home as she started towards the emergency exit in the back of the room, she turned on heel to look back at what she had been working on. It would be a shame to have let the samples go to waste. She glanced up at the window in the door, she could be easily seen by someone passing through the hallway in a final sweep, so she crouched down hurried back over to her lab bench, and picked up the samples that were still neatly sealed in their containers, and shoved them into her bag, grabbing the box of clean slides from the counter as well, shoving the box into the bag. She was always in need of new slides at home, as she was prone to looking at random samples on their microscope that had taken up a residence in the study they had made up at of her former bedroom. 

While Jemma was busy packing up everything into her bag, she had missed a sound. She missed the sound of staggering feet through the hallway, missed the slight sound of growling that accompanied it. She missed as it made it's way, closer and closer to the door of the lab she was in. She missed as a head looked in the window, and spotted her moving hand on the counter top. It wasn't until the door slowly swung open that she noticed, and she never believed that her heart could drop in such a way. The sound of the feet told her it wasn't one of the men from before, which meant, it was one of the stumbling people. One of the zom-no. They could /not/ be zombies. There was no possible way for zombies to exist. She could list of several scientific reasons right then and there. Pulling herself to her feet, she got ready to run, and that was when she got a glimpse of what /exactly/ was in the lab.

It was a tall man, dressed in hospital scrubs, telling her he had been a nurse. An employee at the hospital. A former co-worker. He would have looked normal, had it not been for the blood. Thick and bright red, dripping down the arm from an injury on the man. It was fairly fresh, yet still coagulated. The chunk missing from his arm looked like a bite. His eyes, oh, his eyes, bloodshot and cloudy, lifeless as they started at her in hunger, one arm extended as it reached out to grab her, taking stumbling steps towards the biochemist who was in complete disbelief. This was a zombie. A real, life, undead...thing. Could she call it a human anymore? Surely anything after death was a cadaver, so should she call it that? She didn't have the time to ponder proper terminology, as much as she wished that she could, and she knew that. She had to put up a fight or make an escape. Making an escape would be the best decision, but...making a fight, she could potentially take it down, and collect fresh samples. Fresh samples could provide a new glimpse at the condition, as she had never had the opportunity to look at samples of one who had gotten to this phase, and she would be lying if she said she wasn't fascinated, and that she didn't feel the allure and pull of a new scientific discovery in front of her. But, what that, came the question of exactly how she would be able to take it down. 

Her eyes darted across the lab as she watched it carefully to find exactly what she could have used. If every zombie movie Fitz had forced her to watch, just to scare her and get her to cuddle with him, was true, she had no chance without a weapon. She wasn't strong enough to crush the head under her shoe, like she had seen characters do. Okay, so running was the clear choice, but by the time she had turned to run after assessing the situation, there was a hand on her, grabbing her arm and tugging it towards the creature's mouth. Jemma's free hand rushed to grab the heaviest object she could find within the immediate area. Her hand fell upon the microscope. The heavy metal certainly hurt when it pinched one's finger between the bottom and the counter top, surely it would do the job. If Jemma was strong enough to swing it repeatedly. Taking a chance, she picked it up as quickly as she possible could, swinging it forward to hit it's head in an attempt to knock it back. The first attempt gave no avail. As his mouth grew closer and closer to her arm, she allowed herself to fall to the floor abruptly, to pull her arm away, grabbing the microscope with both hands as she pulled herself back up to her feet and swung it again, and again, and again. Eventually, she managed to succeed in taking the thing down, but not without making a mess. 

Bashing one's head in was not an easy thing by any means, and it was not by any means clean. Jemma's hands were dirty, the microscope heavy in her hands. Looking down at the mess at her feet, which had once been the skull of this..thing, she dropped the microscope, hearing it break against the ground, immediately regretting the decision because of the sound it made. The loud sound would tell anyone that she was there in the room. She had to get out, but she couldn't bring herself to move. Instead, she stayed there, staring at the mess she had made. It wasn't until her phone pinged that she came back to herself, realizing where exactly she was. She breathed in a deep breath and turned, taking off in the direction of the the emergency exit that she had intended on using, leaving the body behind without having taken any samples of the corpse. She took off, running to the door, and slipping into the small room that led to the large number of stairs that, in turn, led outside. Fitz would be outside waiting. He should be outside waiting for her. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her, tripping over a step and falling over some of them, before pulling herself up to run more, refusing to be phased by falling. Fitz was outside. Fitz was waiting for her. Fitz was comfort. Fitz was home. 

Emerging into the lot in the back of the hospital, she could have cried tears of relief when she spotted their car, waiting there in the lot. Fitz was there. She booked it over to the car, placing her hand on the window, taking a glance at the engineer sitting in the driver seat, before moving it away to open the door. Her hand left a print, ingrained in the glass of the window in the blood of the..zombie that she had killed. Pulling on the handle and opening the door, she slipped inside the car, situating herself in the seat, turning to Fitz, shock evident on her face, before she opened her mouth to mutter.

"Drive."


	4. In which Fitz comforts Jemma and a new person appears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing really well typing tonight. Just cranked out 2 chapters in under 5 hours. I'm pretty proud of myself.

There was a bloody handprint on the window. 

There was a bloody bloody handprint on the window! 

Fitz' mind raced while he imagined what could have happened, eager to find out what exactly Jemma had been through. She /always/ washed up properly after work, claimed it would be a bio-hazard if she didn't. He was thankful for her diligence when it came to preventing a biological hazard. He was never the most..strong stomached man. He could watch gory movies fine, but when it came to real life, he couldn't do it. Once, Jemma had placed a cat's liver in the fridge, beside his sandwich that she had made for him, in an unlabeled container no less. Without paying attention to which container had the sandwich, he had grabbed the cat liver by mistake, and when he opened it, he vomited, and near fainted. He did /not/ expect the liver to be in the fridge beside his sandwich. She never let him live his reaction down, so he had decided to never let her off the hook for leaving the bloody thing there in the first place. 

When she got into the car, his hands reached for the blanket he had brought, immediately wrapping it around her shoulders once she sat. As he wrapped the blanket around her, he saw the condition of her scrubs in a much closer light. There disgusting, wet with red, fragments of..something clinging to it as the red dried, making the pliable fabric become stiff. Questions formed on the tip of his tongue, and he opened his mouth to speak to the brunette in the passenger seat, when she told him to drive. So, he followed the biochemist's instructions, and pulled out of the lot, moving into the street, starting back towards their flat, for her to get cleaned up.

"Jemma, what happened?" He said after a moment, giving a quick glance at the woman. She was trembling, pulling at the edges of the blanket, pulling her knees up to her chest, trying to burrow herself in the warmth and comfort it provided. She offered no explanation as to what had happened, keeping her words to herself. It had become evident to Fitz that he would need to coax it out of her when she was in this state. Something had really rattled her, that was for sure. Jemma was frequently one to be chipper after a day or work, to share what she had discovered, or complain about what she hadn't discovered to him, and he would be lying if he hadn't admitted that he missed her chipper voice and conversation in the situation. She offered him nothing on the ride home, simply sitting in the seat beside him, inhaling deeply to calm herself. She was fighting off an anxiety attack, and had Fitz not been driving, he would have pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair, the blood on her be damned. The brunette had an anxiety for a the better part of her life, frequently having problems with it as a teenager in school. It wasn't until she was in university, and had a breakdown that her parents had agreed to take her to see someone. She was put on medication for it, and it helped, but sometimes, she needed something more. When things got bad or traumatic, she needed Fitz' comfort. 

After a fairly short drive, they arrived at their flat. Luckily, most of their neighbors were busy, working at their jobs, making it easier for Fitz to bring Jemma inside with the blood on her clothes and hands. He kept his hands on her shoulders during the walk up the steps to their front door. He promptly unlocked it and urged Jemma inside, locking it when he closed it behind them. Jemma seemed to visible relax once he got her inside the apartment, so he decided to try and speak to her again. 

"Jems, what happened?" He asked, smoothing a hand over her hair. She said nothing. The engineer nodded his head, placing his hand on the small of her back, herding her in the direction of their bathroom. "Okay, here, lets get you cleaned up." He insisted. 

They crossed the floor to the hallway, Jemma's Doc Marten boots making a heavy sound as she walked, compared to the more slight sound of Fitz's converse. The floors of the old flat creaked slightly, in a way which Fitz had found a little creepy at first, but the old, classic feel of the flat had made Jemma happy, so he quickly learned to deal with it. The heavy boot sounds caused Jemma to turn and look around, before realizing it was her own feet making her sound, after which she would breathe in relief. Her behavior was concerning to Fitz, who had rarely seen her act like this, unless she had a dream about a specific event from her childhood, which had really impacted her whole life. Typically when that happened, it was during the night, and he could pull her closer to his side and hush her off to sleep once again. He would told her, petting her hair until he knew she was deep in REM sleep, and that he could fall asleep himself without worry it would happen again. 

As they approached the bathroom, Fitz managed to pull the blanket from her shoulders, dropping it in the dirty clothes hamper that had taken up residence beside the claw footed bathtub. The bathroom wasn't large by any means, and in fact, it was a bit too small for them both to squeeze in like this, but they supposed that the two of them could manage. He made his intentions clear as he reached and grabbed the bottom hem of the shirt of her scrubs, pulling it off her body with her help when it came to the arms. Seeing the pale expanse of her unmarred torso forced him to breathe a sigh of relief. Unless shark week had struck with a vengeance, and from her chest, the blood was /not/ hers. Although, that led to more questions. Luckily, she seemed to visible improve more when he pulled the bloody shirt from her body and dropped it into the clothing hamper. With her shirt off, and her handing there, in her bra and trousers, she inhaled deeply, letting out the breath on a small sob. 

"Jem, please, what happened?" Fitz asked persistently as he put the plug in the drain of the bathtub and turned on the hot water, allowing it to fill up. Although his hands were busy, he kept his eyes on hers, which looked back at him, with a mixture of adoration and fear. Not fear of him, fear of what she had seen. 

"Fitz, it was horrible." The brunette choked out, fighting the urge to rub her face with her hands. She may have been traumatized and upset, but she still knew proper blood safety procedures. "They were...shooting people in the halls, and the came in the lab, and I had to hide and..and." She trailed off, allowing herself a moment to compose herself as the words forced more emotion to be displayed. "And...and they were following them, and they got in the lab."

"What was following them, Jemma?" Fitz asked, raising an eyebrow as he reached for a bottle of bubble soap, pouring a bit into the water, sticking his hand in and mixing it with his hand to distribute the soap. 

"They..they were zombies..that they only way to describe them." She insisted, her eyes shifting to look down at the floor, as if she was ashamed to admit it. 

Fitz' jaw just about dropped as she said it. Zombies? Did Jemma really just admit that there were /zombies/? This was a moment for the history books. It truly was. Jemma had spent a large amount of time while Fitz was watching The Walking Dead, complaining about the scientific inaccuracy, and how it was impossible for zombies to exist. Jemma Simmons was the last person he would have expected to say that. Of course, he often would respond to her comments about the inaccuracies, by saying something about ghosts, which he did not believe to exist, but Jemma was a firm believer. 

"And it had my arm, and I had to kill it..blunt force trauma to the head." She explained, looking down at her arm to find a clean spot, wiping her forehead against the upper part of her forearm, just below the side of her elbow. 

"Are you-"

"No."

The curly haired man sighed in relief. If Jemma was bit, he didn't know what he would have done. He would have put her down when she became ill, he supposed. He wouldn't watch her suffer, wouldn't watch her die and then put her down when she came back. Luckily, he didn't have to do that, because Jemma was in tact, she was not bit and he quietly rejoiced in the fact, reaching to turn off the water once the bathtub was sufficiently filled. With the bath drawn, motioned for Jemma to turn her back to him. When she did, his hands reached up and found the back clasp of her bra, unlatching it and helping her remove it from her body to drop in the hamper. 

Now, undressing Jemma Simmons was certainly one thing that Leopold Fitz had imagined for a while, not that he would admit it, but now that he was doing it, he didn't want what he expected he would want. No, instead he wanted to kiss her shoulders and the dusting of freckles there. He wanted to do anything he could to put her at ease, to comfort her in any way possible. As he helped her out of her trousers and knickers, he took a careful look at her legs, just to make sure something hadn't happened to her. Finding nothing, he dropped the clothing into the hamper and urged her into the warm water he had drawn, turning at the waist to reach and grab a wash cloth for her. 

Jemma sunk down into the water, resting her head against the back rim of the tub. The water felt nice on her body, relaxing her tense and nervous muscles. She reached her hand out to grab the cloth from Fitz, only for him to deny it to her and dip it in the water himself, and bring it up to wash her face. He was gentle about it, rubbing the rough terrycloth against her face to clean up anything that had spattered there. With her hair done, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, before repeating the process with her arms, and upper torso, cleaning her exposed body parts before handing her the cloth to the the rest, as he didn't want to be blindly reaching his hand into the water to scrub her body. 

While she was preoccupied with cleaning herself, he excused himself from the room, making his way back to their bedroom and grabbing her plush bathrobe, and a clean pair of knickers, bringing them back to the bathroom for her. By the time he had returned, Jemma had pulled the plug from the drain and was allowing the water to drain from the tub. After drying herself off, and slipping into the robe and undergarments that Fitz had brought her, she was starting to feel all better, calming down from the state she had been in before. With the blood cleaned from her skin, she was feeling fairly normal. 

As Fitz turned to leave the bathroom, Jemma reached out and grabbed a hold of his hand, urging him back to her. He turned to face, her raising an eyebrow, until she stepped in closer and he understood what she was doing. 

"Thank you, Fitz" The biochemist said happily, getting up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. She closed in, mere centimeters from his lips, when there was a shouting from outside, grabbing her attention. She let go of Fitz' hand and rushed to the front window and looked outside. There was a girl there in the street, being pursued by a group of the zombies. They must have spread to other places now. She was holding her own against one of them, but with the group of them, reaching to grab at her, it had to be difficult. 

"Fitz, the door!" Jemma instructed, tying the sash of her bathrobe tighter around her waist, to make sure her breasts were properly covered. It took the blonde a second to realize what she meant, he quickly unlocked the door and opened it, to shout out to the brunette woman being pursued. 

"Over here, hurry up!" He insisted, watching as she turned her attention to them and rushed over to the door, slipping in when Fitz tried to usher her in. Although, they had also caught the zombies' attention, who quickly made their way to follow her to the door. Fitz slammed it shut and locked it once she was inside, cutting the zombies out, while he turned and rushed to find his drill, screws, and some spare wood. 

"Are you okay?" Jemma asked, crossing her arms over her chest for some extra cover, just in case.

"Yeah, I'm fine thanks." The brunette replied, reaching her hand up and smoothing down her short cropped hair. 

"I'm Jemma, and that's Fitz." Jemma introduced them, pointing at the engineer as he ran back and forth between rooms to find screws and his drill. 

"I'm Daisy, and it's nice to meet you two."


	5. In which they eat dinner and offer Daisy a place to stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather slow, things should pick up the next one. I had writers block today, so this chapter is very lacking.

After Fitz had boarded up the door, the three of them tried to relax a bit, lounging in the living room. Fitz sat on the couch, leaning against the back of it, with Jemma curled up against his side, having recently gone and changed into proper clothes that weren't the bathrobe that Fitz had brought to her. Daisy had taken over the chair that was on the other side of the coffee table, her shoes having been pulled off, she tucked her feet under her butt as she sat. While they stayed in the room, Daisy regaled them with the story of how she had come to be running down their street, desperate to get away from the group of zombies that had been chasing her. As she finished her story, talking about how she had been living in her van up until that moment until she found herself unable to get back to their van, resorting to running instead. 

"Well, you're welcome to the couch, if you'd like it?" Jemma suggested. "Fitz and I can spare the room." She further explained, the Scotsman nodding his head in agreement as he worked his fingers through the strand of Jemma's hair that he had between his fingers, playing with the brown strands. 

"I'll stay for the night, if you don't mind." Daisy replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "But, I think I'm going to head out after that." 

"Of course we don't mind." Jemma insisted, opening her mouth to say more, when she heard a noise outside. She looked up at Fitz, raising an eyebrow before she pulled herself to the feet, slowly making her way over to the window. She peeked out, staying concealed behind the curtains, she peered at the street, visibly tensing while she watched. 

"Jem, back away from the window." Fitz advised as he pulled himself to his feet as well, crossing the room to place his hand on her shoulder, urging her to move away from the window, while watching over her head. In the street, was a person, dressed in the scrubs of a medical professional. The woman dragged her feet awkwardly as she walked outside the door, making her way past the window. Fitz understood why Jemma was unnerved. It was the bullet wound in the chest, evident by the blood soaking the shirt of the scrubs, coming from a hole in the shirt. It was a strategically placed shot. Even Fitz, who didn't know much about gunshot wounds, other than how to build a more effective gun, could tell that it /should/ have been a kill shot. Yet, there the woman was, stumbling along the ground. Placing a hand on either one of Jemma's shoulders, and pulling her away from the window, directing her back over to the couch. He pressed a kiss to her hair, urging her to relax. 

"This is..crazy, right?" Daisy asked, raising an eyebrow. "I mean like, who would have expected that there would be real zombies? It's like all the stuff in shows is coming true."

"S'the last thing that I expected." Fitz nodded, taking a seat on the couch once again. 

"Scientifically, it doesn't make sense." Jemma insisted. "Are their bodies making ATP? Do they digest their food? If they don't, they'll just keep eating until their stomachs are full and can't hold anymore, then they won't pose any threat anymore." She gave the same standard argument that she always gave when Fitz was busy watching his zombie shows and movies. The science babble made her feel better, like she could focus on something that wasn't what she had seen. She frequently found solace in in the cold, hard facts. 

"That's too much science for me." Daisy complained playfully. "You must be a scientist."

"Medical Research scientist." The brunette clarified with a nod of her head. 

"Spiffy." Daisy nodded. "I was a freelance technical specialist."

"Engineer." Fitz said, nodding his head as he did. 

When a lull in the conversation had formed, Jemma glanced up at the clock that hung on the wall above the chair. A surprising amount of time had passed since that morning, most of which had been spent fortifying the house against the threat outside in the streets. It was nearly the time when they should have something to eat. Jemma's mother had ingrained manners into her mind when she was a child, and as a teenager. Being a good hostess was one thing that she had learned early on, and even in times when things were fairly messed up like they were no, Jemma would not let her mother down. So, she picked herself up from the couch and went into the kitchen to make sandwiches for the three of them, not in the mood to go ahead and make a large, elaborate dinner, she figured this would be good enough for them. 

Jemma's mother was a very overbearing woman while Jemma was young. She had expectations for Jemma, and she would /not/ let up on her. After the death of her brother, the expectations for both children had fallen on Jemma. The brunette did her best, but she had never seemed to be quite as good as her mother had expected. Her mother's expectations caused a large amount of anxiety for the woman as she grew up. As a teenager, her mother had insisted that she didn't need medication for her anxiety, insisting that it was all in her head, and that she did not actually have it. It was until she was at university, and she had a panic attack. Fitz had been there to take care of her. It was after that when her mother had started to believe her. 

In the kitchen, she put together three sandwiches, placing the meat and cheese on the bread, and putting them together, placing them each on a plate, and dishing up some crisps to go with each one. It was far from a gourmet dinner, but it was good enough. She managed to bring the three sandwiches in the room, and set them down on the dining room table and placing her own in her lap to eat. Fitz and Daisy offered their thanks as they each took a plate, and they ate in relative silence. 

With dinner finished, and the dishes placed in the sink to be washed later, Jemma set up a bed for Daisy on the couch in the living room, before she and Fitz retired to their own room. Having changed into her pajamas, Jemma plopped down on the bed, laying on her side to face Fitz' pillow, as he plopped down in the bed as well, laying to face her pillow. They laid there in silence for a while, thinking to themselves about the situations before they eventually said something. 

"I was wrong." Jemma said quietly, reaching and taking his hand, intertwining their fingers as they laid on there on the bed. 

"Well, since you're the one who admitted it." Fitz teased, reaching over to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to curl up against his chest. "But, I won't tease you about it." 

She playfully moved her arm and swatted at his arm, nuzzling against his chest as she did. "I've got to learn more about what's causing it." 

"Jem, I think this is one thing you've got to let go. This might not be a good idea for you to research." 

"Fitz, it's my duty to the medical field! I was working on it at work, and I can continue to work, I just need my sam-" 

"What?" Fitz raised his eyebrow. 

"My samples, my bag! They're still at the hospital!" Jemma insisted in near horror as she worked her way out of his arms, sitting up in horror. "Fitz, I need samples!" 

"Jemma, we can go and get samples tomorrow. We can kill one, and then we can use that as samples." 

"But-" 

"It'll be the same as any of the samples that you would be able to get at work."

Unable to make a better argument, Jemma nodded her head. "I suppose we can just do that." 

"I'm right, of course." Fitz said, reaching his hands out and urging her to lay back down. 

"That's a first." Jemma insisted playfully, before he moved his hands in to tickle at her sides. "Fitz no!" She insisted, trying to roll over to away from him. 

"No!" Fitz insisted, moving forward to continue to tickle her sides. This time, as opposed to rolling away from him, she rolled towards him, moving to press her lips against him. Fitz was caught off guard by Jemma's actions, and it worked the way she wanted it to. He pulled his hands away from her side, and instead wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. 

They stayed there until they needed to pull back and breathe, only to take a deep breath before diving back in again.


	6. In which Jemma wakes up Fitz

The next morning, Jemma Simmons covered her mouth and yawning as she pulled herself to sit up, using her other hand to hold her blanket up over her bare chest. The light had started to shine in through the windows in the bedroom, shining onto the bed, which had actually been the thing to wake Jemma up. She flopped back down onto the bed and rolled onto her side to look for her shirt and bra that had been tossed aside in their activities the night before. Reaching her hand down, she grabbed the fabric in her hand and pulled it back, quickly slipping them on. After dressing herself, she rolled onto her other side, placing her hand on his Fitz' shoulder, her hand reaching up to stroke her fingers against his stubbly cheek, trying to tickle his face to wake him up. 

Of course, the engineer refused to wake, like Jemma had wanted from him. Finding that it was useless for her to do and try to wake him up, she shook her head and went to get dressed. She pulled herself from the bed and made her way over to her dresser, pulling a pair of clean knickers and a pair of sweatpants from the drawer and quickly pulling them on. It wasn't until then when she realized that while she and Fitz had been together that night, that Daisy was in the other room, trying to sleep. There was no question that she had heard what was going on. Maybe it was better if Jemma came out of the room before Fitz did. Although she had just met the woman in the other room, Daisy seemed like the kind of person who would tease her about it. She liked Daisy well enough from what she knew of her. 

Inhaling deeply, Jemma stepped out of the bedroom and into the living room, as if nothing had happened between the two the night before. As she stepped into the living room, she found Daisy packing her belongings into the backpack, getting ready to head out. When she looked at her backpack, Jemma noticed that her belongings were in fact, very few. 

"Here, you can't possibly survive without more food than that." Jemma pointed out, drawing the other brunette woman's attention to her. 

"Jemma, you don't need to give me extra food."

"Well, I do! I offered you a place to stay, and we kept you safe after yesterday. I'm not about to leave you with no food." She insisted as she made her way to the kitchen. She went through the cabinets, trying to find what she could, that wouldn't spoil. She placed canned goods and non-perishable foods out on the table for her to take. It wasn't too much for to carry around with her, and with proper rationing it would last for a long time. Jemma believed that she and Fitz would be able to stay in their home while she worked on finding a cause, and ultimately a cure. 

Daisy followed Jemma into the room, watching as she unloaded the food onto the kitchen table for her. She didn't make any more protests than the ones she had made earlier. She knew she would need food, and there was no point in arguing with a medical professional, such as Jemma. She nodded her hands as she took the food, and put it into her backpack. 

"Thank You." 

"Of course." Jemma nodded, offering a friendly smile to the woman. "I just would hate for you to die of starvation." 

Daisy offered a smile, putting the bag on her back, glancing out the window in the kitchen, to the alleyway behind the house. The alleyway was clear, and almost inviting, as it seemed to be so much different than the area that were full of stumbling people. She turned her attention back to Jemma, and offered a smile. 

"I should head out." She nodded. 

"Come here." Jemma motioned for the woman to come over. When she did, she gave her a quick hug, letting go shortly after. She crossed the room and over to the back door in the kitchen, which lead to the alleyway in the back of the house. She unlocked it, and opened it to allow Daisy to leave. With the door open, Daisy slipped out, and hurried out of the alleyway. As soon as she was out, she closed and locked the door, drawing the curtains closed. With the house guest gone, Jemma hurried into the study to get ready. She was going to hold Fitz to his promise that they were going to go get fresh samples. When she slipped into the room, she sat down on the chair at the desk, grabbing the microscope from where it was pushed over to the side, grabbing the slides to go with it as well. She laid out the slides and the cover slips she would need, moving Fitz' prototype of a gun out of the way, setting them aside so she could quickly prepare slides when she had the required samples. With the desk set up for using the microscope, she stepped back, turning her back to go back to the bedroom to wake try and talk to Fitz, once again. 

Upon entering the bedroom, she flopped down on the bed, laying on her stomach as she poked the sleeping engineer in the side. Fitz stirred, rolling slightly away from her. He was often a heavy sleeper, falling asleep and not waking up until he was ready, but Jemma had learned in the time they had been friends, how exactly to wake him up. When poking him didn't work, she worked her way under the warm blanket and duvet. While the unsuspecting man slept, Jemma snuck her foot over to his leg, pressing her cold foot against his bare leg. 

"What the /hell/ Jemma!" Fitz complained as he opened his eyes. 

"It's time to wake up, Fitz. " Jemma insisted, pointing to the alarm clock on the nightstand. 

"But Jemmma" The blonde man complained, his hand reaching up to ruffle his curls as he rolled onto the side to face Jemma's pillow.

"No buts Fitz. We need to go get samples." 

"But I want to-"

"No"

"Sleep"

"No." 

"Fineee." Fitz sighed, pulling himself to sit up, keeping the blanket draped over his lower body as he glanced around to locate his pajamas. Blindly grasping around on the floor, he found his boxers, and pulled them on under the warm blankets before he stood up. He crossed the room, opening his dresser and grabbing a pair of jeans, which he tugged on over the boxers, and grabbed a shirt, pulling it on and quickly buttoning it, tucking it into his jeans, just like it was a normal day. It felt like a normal day, waking up next to Jemma, getting dressed. Had it not been for Jemma insisting that they needed to go get samples, he may have believed that the day before was all a dream. When he turned back to Jemma, she was finished getting dressed, so he waited for her to finish while he pulled a cardigan jumper on over his shirt to keep himself warm. The winters there were nothing compared for to the standard winters where he was from, but it did get cold, and he liked to stay warm. He was used to something colder than the London winters, so when it came to the winter, he didn't quite need all the gear that Jemma insisted that she needed. He was build for Scottish highland winters, and had grown used to them during his childhood. 

By the time Fitz had pulled on his cardigan and his Converse sneakers, Jemma was all ready to go out and collect the samples. The brunette was bundled up in a warm pair of jeans, and her standard Doc Martens, a warm jumper pulled on over her torso. She looked over at Fitz and offered him an enthusiastic smile. The engineer met her smile, returning it with one of his own as he reached to grab her hand and pull her out of the room. She was enthusiastic about going out and collecting samples, so much so that she had woken him up from his sleep, so, in return, he was going to go ahead and try and hurry her outside, to insure that waking him up would not be for nothing.


	7. In which disaster strikes

After collecting everything that they would need, the two made their way outside of the flat, carefully stepping to avoid making too much sound. The street out front was fairly empty, with a few stumbling people wandering around. There didn't seem to be too many of them, but they were both smart people, and Fitz had seen as many zombie shows to know that even though it all seemed fairly safe, it wasn't. He had learned enough from the shows to know that you could never really be safe. He believed that watching the shows had really given him and edge when it came to this situation. Even though Jemma hated zombie movies and would complain about them for ages, Fitz believed that they were useful for her to have seen. 

They had made their plan while still inside the apartment. They were going to find an isolated zombie, and they were going to kill it, with the kitchen knife that they had brought with them. Once they had killed it, Jemma was going to take samples from the body of the zombie. Jemma had brought the proper supplies for them to go ahead and collect samples, vials, and blue sample baggies that she kept in a drawer in the desk in the study. Their plan was working fairly well as they slowly made their way towards the side of the building, looking out over the side at the street. Luckily for them, there was currently one zombie wandering the street outside the house. Jemma looked up at Fitz, and nodded her head, warning him to get ready. Inhaling deeply, the two of them made noise, calling the attention of the zombie to themselves. As the zombie turned in their direction and started towards them, they stepped backwards slowly to lead the zombie into the alleyway behind the house. Fitz held the kitchen knife in his hand, ready to use it when it got close enough. Jemma stepped out of the way, preparing her sample bags. When the zombie came closer and closer to Fitz, he felt more and more..afraid. His hand felt like it was shaking, but he had to do this, it was too close for him to let it go, and Jemma had nothing to help him with. So, his hand shaking, he brought the hand down, trying to aim right to stab the zombie in the eye. On the first stab, he missed. He did, however, cut his hand by mistake. He did his best not to show that he had hurt his hand, and he brought the knife down to stab it again. This time, he missed the eye, but he was successful in killing the thing. Blood came from the thing from the two stab wounds he had caused and covered his hand. When the zombie fell, he paused in shock, looking down at his hand. There was a long cut along his blood covered hand. 

Oh god. He just came in contact with the blood of someone who /died/ and turned. He just got it in his own wound. He had heard Jemma rant enough about how the people in the show had had certainly come into contact with the blood with their wounds. Oh bloody hell. He had just infected himself. 

When the zombie fell onto the ground, Jemma came rushing over, with the sample kits in her hand. It wasn't until she looked up at Fitz when she stopped her enthusiastic running towards the creature. The worry and distress on Fitz' face caused worry and distress inside Jemma. What was wrong? Something had to be wrong.

"Fitz, did it bite you?" Jemma asked in alarm. 

The man shook his head. 

"Then, what's wrong?"

"I cut my hand stabbing it." 

The biochemist dropped her sample supplies and grabbed his arm, holding it so she could properly look at his arm. Sure enough, there was a long, vertical cut on his hand, which was covered with the thicker blood of a zombie. There was no way he hadn't contracted the illness. 

"I..I can get the samples, and then we can clean it, and I'll..I'll make an antiserum for you."

"Jem." 

"Fitz, you're going to be okay, alright? We're going to be okay." The brunette insisted, pressing a a quick kiss to her fiance's cheek before she picked up the sample taking supplies and got to work, taking careful samples from the body. The used the kitchen knife to cut samples of skin off, before using needles, tubing ,and vials to collect some blood samples. With everything collected, Jemma put them in her bag, grabbing Fitz's arm with her hand and leading him back inside the back door of the house, locking it behind them. She dropped her samples on the counter, rushing to grab the first aid kit. She ran back, sitting down on the couch, urging Fitz to sit beside her, taking his hand and resting it, palm up on top of one of her legs. 

"This is going to hurt a bit, love." Jemma insisted, looking him in the eye and offering an apologetic look. She carefully dipped gauze in rubbing alcohol and got to work, cleaning the blood from his hands, going through several pieces of gauze as she cleaned the blood, until she could finally clean out the injury. She cleaned it out, listening to Fitz' hisses of pain with sympathy. Had she had a free hand, she would have moved it, to stroke carefully through his head of curls, but both her hands were very preoccupied with cleaning. After it was thoroughly cleaned, she deemed that it would only need to be bandaged. She carefully wrapped it, laying gauze down over it, before using medical tape to hold it in place, taking his hand between her own two hands, bringing it up to her lips, pressing a careful kiss against the gauze. 

"You'll be okay Fitz." 

"But Jemma, you said it yourself, I'm infected! I'm infected and it's my own bloody fault!"

"I'm going to make sure you're okay." Jemma insisted, pressing a kiss against his cheek, moving her hand to stroke over his head. "It'll be okay, you'll be okay." 

"Jemma, I love you." The man mumbled quietly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, holding her in a warm hug. He truly believed he was going to die, and he had decided that he didn't tell Jemma that he loved her nearly as much as he should. 

"Shh, Fitz. I love you too." She replied, working her way out of his arms. "Why don't you go lay down. I'll go work on making the antiserum."

She managed to pull the man to his feet, and lead him back to their bedroom. She walked beside him the whole way, holding onto his arm while they walked. Upon entering the bedroom, she led him over to their bed and sat down on top for it for a moment while he laid back down and curled up under his warm blanket. She stayed there for a moment, simply thinking before Fitz spoke. 

"Jemma, when I turn, you have to-"

"Put you down, I know, I know. I...I'll do it, if I-"

"Of course you have to Jemma, you can't let me become one of them."

"I..I won't." She insisted, nodding her head. 

"Go work on your cure, blood girl." Fitz teased, reaching and placing his hand on top of Jemma's for a moment before drawing it back.


	8. In which Jemma sciences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I am insistent on accurate science, this science in this chapter is iffy at best. As I am going to be a biochemist myself, I usually make sure my science is correct, but this chapter, I just didn't so, yeah. Please, enjoy anyway.

With the new motivation to find a cure, Jemma kicked herself into overdrive. It was like when she was attending university, and she would stay up for hours, barricading herself in her room to work on her projects. She had to find the solution to this. Nothing she had ever done had been so high stakes to her. Right here, in this situation, everything was at risk. She could lose Fitz right then and right there, which was the last thing that she would ever want to happen. She couldn't lose Fitz, she just couldn't. The two of them had been together in some capacity for a majority of their lives, and she wasn't ready for it to fall apart then. She didn't want this to happen then. She couldn't imagine losing Fitz. 

She laid everything out on the desk top, working on isolated the pathogen. She figured that the easiest way to go ahead and do this was to grow more pathogenic cells, which would form antibodies as they grew. She could then use them in the antiserum that she was working on. She carefully made a list of the things that she would need for it. With the list made in her mind, she got to work, grabbing everything that she would need. She pulled out a petri dish, and prepared some agar gel to use to grow the cells. After thinking for a moment, she decided that using the gel, she still should provide some skin cells that weren't infected. Carefully, she retrieved the first aid kit, and cleaned up a small patch of skin on her arm, and took a scalpel, cutting a fresh sample from her arm, before she cleaned the wound and wrapped it properly. She placed the sample on the gel, with the infected cells. With everything properly placed in the petri dish, she set it up under a heat lamp, and went to go check on Fitz.

Upon entering their bedroom, she was confronted with the sight of a sleeping Fitz. The man was curled up in the bed, tucked under piles of blankets. The poor man was more pale than usual, his cheeks flushed. She carefully stepped over and pressed the back of her fingers against his forehead to feel it. His skin was radiating heat in a way that concerned Jemma. She had to get his fever down. She had never seen the illness happen this quickly, but yet, there Fitz was, in the later states of the illness in only a few hours. She had to work quickly. She scurried away, and grabbed a wash cloth, and covered it in cold water, wringing it out and coming back to Fitz, wiping off his face to try and cool down his body. It wouldn't do much, but without a fever reducer on hand, it was all she could do. While she busy taking care of him, the lights flickered for a moment, before coming back on. It repeated that for a few moments, before it finally just went out. Jemma's mind snapped to the heat lamp, which was growing the pathogen. Leaving the wash cloth on Fitz' forehead, the brunette took off running to the study. Without the heat lamp, growing the pathogen wouldn't work quite well. The pathogen grew so fast, and infected so quickly, that maybe, it was possible that enough had grown in the time that she was away from it. She was hoping that was the case, because she didn't think that Fitz would make it much longer without treatment. 

While she sat down on the chair in front of the desk, she watched the skin sample right before her eyes in the petri dish. Her own, uninfected skin had become infected while she was away. It had grown pale, far more than it was before. She had successfully grown the pathogenic cells. Now all she had to do was to create a antiserum with it. She had created a few before in her lab at work, so this should really have been a breeze for her. Or, rather, it should have been, but with no power, and equipment, it might be difficult for her to do. She was going to try, none the less. The pained noises coming from Fitz and their bedroom told Jemma she was running out of time. She had to hurry, so she got to work. Her hands moved as quickly as she could, creating an antiserum from her skin. Once she had managed to create an antiserum from it, she found a syringe for herself to use on Fitz. When she managed to get everything all ready, she grabbed it and took off sprinting. 

She couldn't have finished it sooner. Fitz' skin was radiating heat in a way that human skin really shouldn't. The worried biochemist knelt on the bed beside him, needle in her hand. Carefully, she stuck it in his arm and injected the antiserum, pulling the needle out once she was finished and throwing it in the bin beside the nightstand on her side of the bed. Fitz' condition didn't change, not that she expected it to at first. Nothing changed at all, instead, the man laid there for a long while. He wasn't moving, and there was no indication of life. Naturally, she found herself fighting tears. Had she killed him herself? Did the illness kill him? Was he even dead? Questions swirled around in Jemma's mind as she pondered what would happen. She was almost afraid to reach over and take his pulse or feel his chest. So, she waited. She would wait for him to wake. Either he would wake as a zombie, or awake as himself. 

So she waited.

And she waited.

And she waited. 

And then he woke up.

He gave a groan as he woke, shifting slowly in the bed. His eyes still closed slightly as he moved his arms, fighting against the tangle of blankets wrapped around himself. When he did open his eyes, they were bloodshot, darting around the room to take in his surroundings, until they settled on Jemma, laying on the bed beside him, a kitchen knife carefully tucked in her hands. He reached out a hand towards her, letting out a groan. Jemma assumed the worst. From his eyes to his sounds, his skin, and his slow movements, the worst had to have happened. Jemma Simmons, ever the optimist had given up hope for the most part. She moved the knife, holding it in her hand, ready to bring it down, when he spoke.

"Jemma.." His voice said weakly. 

Jemma's hand dropped the knife, and she dove in, cupping his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his, feeling his arms slowly wrap around her shoulders, holding her in an embrace that she really never wanted to leave.


	9. In which Fitz and Jemma canoodle

Fitz wrapped his arms around the brunette, holding her against his chest as she pulled back from his lips. She curled up, fitting her head under his chin, moving her hand to ball up into a fist in his shirt, curling up like a child. She clung to him, refusing to let go. She wouldn't let go any time soon, she just couldn't. Fitz' curls stroked and treaded carefully through the strands of her silky brown hair, trying to reassure himself as much as he was trying to reassure her. He was alive, she was alive, and the two of them were alive together. 

"I thought you were dead." Jemma mumbled when she finally decided that she wanted to talk. She uncurled her fingers and stroked them carefully over his chest, feeling around until it was directly over his heart, her hand pressing against his skin, feeling the beating of his heart under her hand, and the rhythm of his breathing under her head. It was heaven, or the closest thing that Jemma Simmons could imagine to heaven. 

"It's okay, Jem. I'm alive." He insisted, moving his head and turned it down to face her, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. He pressed his nose against her hair, taking in the smell of her hair. It smelled like her shampoo, but it smelled a little sweaty as well. That was no doubt because of the stress she had been under while trying to put together a cure to save his life. He wasn't sure how she had managed it, but she did. 

He hadn't doubted that she would be able to do it, but he did believe that he would have died before there was time for her to create the cure. He had seen her do nearly remarkable things in the past, knew she did things like that at work all the time. But, it was different when you were the first person to come up with the cure and you wouldn't know if it would work or not. Jemma's devotion to both Fitz, and medical research had been an effective combination for motivation for her. Now that she had created a cure, Fitz had one less thing to worry about. He no longer had to worry about being bitten. If he was bitten, the only thing he would need to fear is standard infection from having an open wound. His body would have antibodies, that would prevent him from worrying about being bitten and dying. 

"Jemma, we need to mass produce this." Fitz insisted with a slight nod of his head, picking up his head from where it was, his nose pressed against the top of her head, seeking comfort from her being there in his arms. His dexterous fingers continued to twist and play with the silky brown hair between his fingers, braiding and then unbraiding, soothing himself with the feeling. 

"How would we?" Jemma asked, raising an eyebrow as she moved her head just slightly, to avoid pulling the strands of hair that he was holding from between his fingers, it felt just as comfortable and soothing to her as it was to him. "Where would we create it?" 

"We could...go to the hospital?" 

"But..it was over-"

"Overun, I know...but...maybe we could clea-"

"Clear it out? Fitz, how could we do that on our own. All we have is kitchen knives, we can't clear out a hospital with just them."

"We could clear out just the lab? I could barricade the doors, and you can work in that one lab."

"Do you really think that will work?" Jemma asked, raising an eyebrow. Fitz released the hair from his fingers, letting her pull herself to sit up. She shifted to lay with her head against the pillow, placing the knife in her nightstand. She leaned back against the pillow, laying on her side as she looked over at Fitz. 

"Of course it'll work." Fitz insisted, leaning over to follow her back over to her pillow, dropping his head down to press a kiss against her lips, stroking a hair over her head, his fingers catching in the bottom of her hair, curling a few strands around his fingers before letting go. 

"I suppose we can try it." She nodded, shifting to lay flat on her back when he pulled back to take in a deep breath. She glanced over at him, reaching her hands up to wrap her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to lay beside her. While he settled down on the bed, she grabbed the blankets and duvet and pulled them up over themselves, closing her eyes once they had settled down, curling up against him and closing her eyes to fall asleep.


	10. In which they argue over junk food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late, compared to my typical updating time. School is kicking me in the butt at present. I've also been struck with a new fic idea. As I am also a Jemma roleplayer, my friend, who plays Fitz, is providing me with some great ideas that I've been dying to use, no matter how cliche the whole werewolf/vampire thing is. 
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, chapter 10

Of course, their plans didn't go the way they had planned. 

Nothing really ever did go the way they planned. 

Jemma woke up, comfortably curled up against Fitz, her cheek pressed against his chest. As comfortable as the bed and the way she was sleeping was, she was unnerved. It wasn't the sun that woke her up this time, and it wasn't Fitz either. It was the sound of footsteps, echoing down the hallway. The hardwood floor creaked under their feet as they walked slowly across the hall, coming closer and closer to the bedroom. When the two of them were home alone, they often slept with the door cracked slightly open. The door, like the rest of the flat, was old and squeaky, so if they closed the door fully, and they opened it to use the bathroom, or leave the room, the door would wake the other up, or rather, it would really only wake Jemma up, and she was not fond of being woken up. Alarmed by the sound, Jemma pressed her cold foot against the the side of Fitz' leg, while she reached into the drawer and grabbed the kitchen knife from the nightstand. 

"What the he-" He started his standard reply to being woken up by Jemma's cold foot against his leg. When he spotted Jemma reaching into the nightstand, he stopped. Something was wrong, Jemma wouldn't have been reaching for the kitchen knife if nothing was wrong. He glanced around, looking carefully around the room, then he heard the noise from the hallway, he knew what was happening. It wasn't until he heard the telltale groaning until he knew what, exactly, was at the door. A zombie had somehow gotten in, which concerned Fitz. The flat was old, and the locks weren't the best, and he had barricaded the front door. Jemma had simply been locking the back door, as opposed to barricading that one. He was very concerned with the fact that their door may have been broken. While he was busy, thinking of how he could fix them, Jemma climbed out of the bed and snuck her way over to the door. Her feet squeaked against the floor while she walked. The zombie outside the door hissed and groaned, rushing inside the door as well as he could with his stumbling legs. Jemma accosted him in the doorway, and carefully used the knife to put the walker down, with minimal blood. 

It wasn't until she got to the door of the bedroom when she heard the sounds of many zombies. A horde of zombies had gotten into the house, and the one had strayed away. With her brown eyes wide in shock, Jemma slowly closed the door as quietly as she could, locking the door as soon as it was closed, looking for something to shove in front of it. 

"Fitz, they're all down there." Jemma insisted, looking over at him while she leaned against the door. 

"We, we can't stay here." Fitz insisted, inhaling deeply as he pulled himself from the bed. Jemma nodded her agreement, slowly making her way across the room and over to a closet in the side where they had put their old backpacks from when they were back in the academy. The two had saved their backpacks in the closet, to use as carry on bags when the pair went on plane trips. Jemma was from a wealthy family, and was used to extravagant holidays, moving between the Simmons' summer home in Paris, and her home back in Asburton. The holidays that she and Fitz went on, on occasion were far from the holidays she had taken as a child, and honestly, she was far more fond of the trips that she and Fitz took, as opposed to ones she had spent with her family. Maybe it was being able to be with Fitz, or maybe it was because the more extravagant trips were not the things she was fond of. Whatever the reason, she savored every moment she could spend on a holiday with Fitz. She pulled them both out of the closet and set them on the bed. She and Fitz would need to carefully pack when they would need in the backpacks. They were reasonably sized, but not too large so they would need to be careful to pack only the things that they needed. Fitz pulled himself up out of the bed and over to his dresser, blindly pulling clothing and things he would need from it, while Jemma did the same. They needed to make a quick escape, unless they wanted to be a late dinner of the creatures in the flat. 

After digging under a pile of socks, Fitz pulled a shoe box from inside the drawer, setting it down on the bed, smiling proudly as he took the lid off, to reveal that it was a box of candy and junk food, which Jemma usually scolded him for eating. He was keeping them to himself, and eating them in secret. The medical researcher had insisted that the two of them eat a fairly healthy diet, and for the most part, they did. She had come up with alternative foods for Fitz to eat when his sweet tooth struck, but nothing was a good as the real thing, ice cream, candy, sweets, anything. He had started the candy box in his sock drawer to counter Jemma's insistence. Leopold Fitz needed his sweets, Jemma couldn't just cut them out. 

"What is that?" Jemma asked, shoving one of her favorite jumpers into her backpack. She raised an eyebrow in questioning. She had suspicions as to Fitz having a secret sweet stash. For a genius engineer, he was not good at hiding evidence. It wasn't uncommon for Jemma to find the wrappers around when she was emptying the bins in the house. 

"Jemma, love, this is how a man keeps his bloody sanity." Fitz insisted with a nod as he dumped the contents of the box into his backpack, setting the box aside as he went over to the dresser once again to grab some clothing. He grabbed jeans and pants, shirts and jumpers, cramming them into the bag. Unlike Jemma, he didn't take the time to fold the clothes before putting them in, he just eagerly stuffed everything in there. 

"Fitz, that stuff isn't good for you." Jemma protested. 

"What is it that you say when it comes to your frozen yogurt? Oh, everything in moderation."

"This isn-" 

"Yes it is, Jemma. It is the same. My sweets and your frozen yogurt are the-"

"No they're not Fitz!" Jemma protested, wrinkling her nose while she looked over at him, her hands carefully folding and putting things away in the backpack. The bag was getting full and she couldn't pack much else. All the food was downstairs, in the kitchen, which was no doubt overrun, which made it difficult and frankly quite impossible for her to go get some food. She would have made more of a fuss against the junk food if they were able to have normal, more healthy food for them. 

"You'll be thankful when you get hungry and we've got my sweets." Fitz insisted, nodding his head matter of factly, putting the bag on his back as he placed his hands on his hips, looking over at the biochemist. 

"Urgh, Fitz." She sighed, shaking her head as she zipped her bag up. It was full, packed with clothing and a warm blanket for the two of them, neatly folded to conserve space. She was not able to fit another thing in the bag, much to their own dismay. There were more thing she would have liked to pack, but she was unable to. She crossed the room, standing at the window beside the bed, looking out over the back yard. There were zombies in the yard, stumbling around and exploring, moaning their zombie moans, as they tended to do. It would certainly be difficult for the two of them to get out. 

Directly outside the window, was a small terrace. It wasn't built for people to actually relax and spend time there, but it was almost perfect for an escape root. If they were carefully, they could make their way out of the window and scale the terrace, and from there, they could climb onto the deck of the flat attached to theirs. From what could be seen from the window, the yard of the neighbor was empty, with no zombies to be seen, the two yards separated by fences. 

It would be difficult for the two, but it was really the only option.


End file.
